In English, our teacher, Mr. Schauble, made the class write a poem in three minutes. For this, I wrote the beginning of a simple poem I am still working on called 'Silence'. Then he made us write another poem from a different point of view. So if the first poem was happy, then the next poem was supposed to be dark and moody. So I made my next poem have an objective opinion since the first poem was a neutral voice. So I wrote this:
Graffitti:
Graffitti—
i think that it's my anti-drug.
the colors,
the smell of the fresh paint,
the pride i feel.
to buy your paints and
let everyone see into your artwork,
let everyone see your excitement,
your way of expressing yourself.
It shouldn't be against the law- IT'S ART
A lot of my classmates liked the voice in which the speaker establishes his or her opinion. One of my classmates commented, "You wrote that? Wow. I thought that it was one of the guys." I guess that I really did step out of my normal writing voice.
Another one of the things my classmates did notice, was how the i's in the poem are lowercased. I did that because I think that maybe although that this graffitti artist is proud of his or her work, the graffitti is a way of making him or her feel big, unlike maybe what people from a different perspective have on him or her throughout a normal livelyhood.
What do you think?
An Interview About My CPB... With an Unexpected Visitor:
I sat on my bed with my computer, English notebook, and other trinkets I would need to do tonight’s homework. I sighed—it was going to be another night of a thousand words trying to reach the paper.
I opened my laptop and put on my selection of favorite music as I shuffled through my papers of homework. My assignment book said I had to do another commonplace book entry on my blog. I opened up my blog account on the Google Blogger to the home page. I only had about three posted entries. I knew Mr. Schauble was keeping an eye on my progress in the entries, even though I wasn’t very consistent with that assignment. I clicked on the link connecting to my blog’s edits. I slammed my head onto the pillow in frustration. There were about six or seven other drafts I started and never finished. I would have to finish them soon or my grade would pay.
A deep voice chuckled. “What’s the purpose of the blog anyway?”
I looked up. My brother wasn’t in my bedroom door playing around. My dad wasn’t there either.
“So answer my question,” the same voice said.
“Who—I mean, what are you?” I asked this invisible being.
“Um, who else?”
“I don’t know… Am I just over stressed and hearing voices?” I sat up and started smacking my forehead repeatedly.
“NO! I’m you subconscious.Duh!” if the voice had any physical being, it would have slapped its head in exasperation. “And stop hitting yourself.”
“Oh?” Now I was really confused. “You’re my subconscious?”
“Yes. You just don’t hear from me much because you think too much.”
“Um, okay.” I stopped looking around trying to find a physical being. “So I’m talking to myself.”
“Just answer the question,” my subconscious said avoiding any answer.
“Mr. Schauble said that it’s supposed to help us progress in our writing skills. You know, sort of like a written progress report.”
“Well, you’re not doing a good job I see.”
“Yah, I know.” I sighed in self-disappointment. “I do a lot of drafts, but never publish them.”
“So what were your three questions?”
“The first one was ‘Why was segregation such an important issue in history and how did it impact the world’. The second was ‘What is fair
and unfair’. The last is sort of my favorite; ‘what is freedom’.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed. You always think about that.”
“So, am I talking to myself?” I asked again.
I thought I heard my subconscious sigh. “Sort of, if you really have to know. I guess you could say you’re talking to an alternate voice.”
“So do you have any physical being?” I was still curious about this concept.
“Sort of. You are my main self. But you can see me better as a shadow.”
“Like Peter Pan,” I remarked. “The shadow had a mind of its own, similar to his.”
“Yah,” it agreed. “Only Peter’s shadow was a snob.”
“I won't ask.”
“Anyways, have you addressed any of your questions?”
“The freedom question is a constant topic. I haven't been making much progress or change in my writing style, I don’t think personally. I
should move on and address a different question.”
“Which one?”
“The unfair and fair question would be a good topic. I think it would be easier for me to address because I have more immediate
experiences dealing with this topic. I would be able to relate to it better. The segregation question—I don’t have any immediate motivation
to address it because of my lack of ‘immediate’ experiences of personal ‘relation’ to it.”
“That makes sense. Do you think that this assignment is relevant to English?”
“I think so. I’ve looked at all of my journals from third and fourth grade and compared it to papers of more recent years. I’ve noticed how
my writing has improved. So I figured that the commonplace book is a more noticeable progression of my writing for just this semester.”
I looked at my shadow on my left side on the blue brick wall. The head part looked as if it nodded. “Do you think this will carry into your final project?”
I thought for a moment. “Maybe. I was thinking of finishing that story about Lunesca. I think that the freedom question could be molded into a theme for one of her subconscious goals. Do you know what I mean?”
“Not really. Explain a bit more.”
“Well, Lunesca, the main character, is sort of like a medieval tomboy trying to find a place to fit in. In short, she seems like she’s trying
to prove herself strong to everyone that she knows and even herself. One of the things she has to deal with is her magical ‘episodes’. Her newfound powers are controlled by her emotions, so it seems, and she’s one of those types who aren't very good at expressing themselves to others. One of the things she tells herself is that she can't let go of her control, or if interpreted, she can't be free of herself. So I’m trying to get the notion that she might be trying to find her sort of freedom throughout her adventure.”
“That’s complicated, but it’s cool. What made you want to do a blog instead of the notebook version?”
“I don’t know. I thought that it would be cool, different. And maybe as you know, since you’re my subconscious, I don’t keep up with diaries or notebook references very well.”
“Plus, your handwriting isn’t the neatest in the world.”
I laughed. “Uh-huh. It isn’t. I also thought about putting videos and other sorts of media in my commonplace book.”
“Do you like your blog?”
“Yes. Um, well, it has its ups and downs. I know that Mr. Schauble is bound to check on my progress, which isn’t very good at the moment. But the cool part about the blogging is that is different. And people can look at your work if they chose to, comment on your work too.”
“So do you like to write?”
“Yes, I do. But it can be hard sometimes. I think that it’s sort of strange because I write better without guidelines whereas I have a harder
time writing something that is supposed to have some sort of structure.”
“So if there is some sort of boundary, even the slightest, you find it harder to write about that topic?”
“I guess you could say that… I don’t know. If I can think of it on my own, I find it easier to put down on paper. If someone wants
something on demand with specifics, I find it harder. For example, in my free write story. Do you know that Lunesca’s brother Jeremy is
actually based on my brother Jeremy?”
“No.”
“Well, he is. A lot of the characters are based on people I know. Like my cousins—they’re Aaron and Brian. Their characters are based
on them. Anyway, I asked them for any special requests. Jeremy had the strange request of getting killed and then coming back to life.
He didn’t give any specifics about it, just that he would die and come back to life. I’m not even at that part of the story and I’ve got about
five possible ways he could die and come back to life.”
“So since he gave a basic request, a general idea, you’re having an easier time thinking about it and writing it down.”
“Um, yes.” I lied back down on my bed, computer still in my lap.
Strangely, my shadow didn’t move from its sitting position. “Well, it was nice talking to you. I’ll try to stop by more often.”
“Oh… okay.” I looked at my brick wall. “So you’re going?”
“Going?” My subconscious jumped up from its seated position. “I can't go anywhere. I’m just going to go chitchat with Jeremy’s
subconscious and catch up on some news while you do your homework. I won't be able to move. So I’m just going to use the technique
your characters use in the mind communicating.”
“Oh… um… well, I guess good bye.” I stared at the wall in amazement of my imagination’s accuracy in the concept of mind
communicating.
“See ya!” The shadow saluted me then snapped its fingers that made a loud cracking nose.
I jumped up in surprise. I looked around. My computer was still on my lap. My shadow was attached to my body, as it should be in
reality.
“Sorry Chel,” a voice said from the hallway. “I hit the bathroom door while I was practicing something for dance.”
“It’s okay Jeremy,” I said automatically as I heard him picking up the fallen object from the ground.
Still confused, I went to my computer and viewed my blog. There were five more posts that were recently drafts. Was that a dream, or
was it reality? My subconscious? Whatever. I had to get to my homework and had no time to dwell on silly mysteries. Okay, Chel, I told
myself. Time to do homework.
In English, our teacher, Mr. Schauble, made the class write a poem in three minutes. For this, I wrote the beginning of a simple poem I am still working on called 'Silence'. Then he made us write another poem from a different point of view. So if the first poem was happy, then the next poem was supposed to be dark and moody. So I made my next poem have an objective opinion since the first poem was a neutral voice. So I wrote this:
Graffitti:
Graffitti—
i think that it's my anti-drug.
the colors,
the smell of the fresh paint,
the pride i feel.
to buy your paints and
let everyone see into your artwork,
let everyone see your excitement,
your way of expressing yourself.
It shouldn't be against the law-
IT'S ART
A lot of my classmates liked the voice in which the speaker establishes his or her opinion. One of my classmates commented, "You wrote that? Wow. I thought that it was one of the guys." I guess that I really did step out of my normal writing voice.
Another one of the things my classmates did notice, was how the i's in the poem are lowercased. I did that because I think that maybe although that this graffitti artist is proud of his or her work, the graffitti is a way of making him or her feel big, unlike maybe what people from a different perspective have on him or her throughout a normal livelyhood.
What do you think?
An Interview About My CPB... With an Unexpected Visitor:
I sat on my bed with my computer, English notebook, and other trinkets I would need to do tonight’s homework. I sighed—it was going to be another night of a thousand words trying to reach the paper.
I opened my laptop and put on my selection of favorite music as I shuffled through my papers of homework. My assignment book said I had to do another commonplace book entry on my blog. I opened up my blog account on the Google Blogger to the home page. I only had about three posted entries. I knew Mr. Schauble was keeping an eye on my progress in the entries, even though I wasn’t very consistent with that assignment. I clicked on the link connecting to my blog’s edits. I slammed my head onto the pillow in frustration. There were about six or seven other drafts I started and never finished. I would have to finish them soon or my grade would pay.
A deep voice chuckled. “What’s the purpose of the blog anyway?”
I looked up. My brother wasn’t in my bedroom door playing around. My dad wasn’t there either.
“So answer my question,” the same voice said.
“Who—I mean, what are you?” I asked this invisible being.
“Um, who else?”
“I don’t know… Am I just over stressed and hearing voices?” I sat up and started smacking my forehead repeatedly.
“NO! I’m you subconscious. Duh!” if the voice had any physical being, it would have slapped its head in exasperation. “And stop hitting yourself.”
“Oh?” Now I was really confused. “You’re my subconscious?”
“Yes. You just don’t hear from me much because you think too much.”
“Um, okay.” I stopped looking around trying to find a physical being. “So I’m talking to myself.”
“Just answer the question,” my subconscious said avoiding any answer.
“Mr. Schauble said that it’s supposed to help us progress in our writing skills. You know, sort of like a written progress report.”
“Well, you’re not doing a good job I see.”
“Yah, I know.” I sighed in self-disappointment. “I do a lot of drafts, but never publish them.”
“So what were your three questions?”
“The first one was ‘Why was segregation such an important issue in history and how did it impact the world’. The second was ‘What is fair
and unfair’. The last is sort of my favorite; ‘what is freedom’.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed. You always think about that.”
“So, am I talking to myself?” I asked again.
I thought I heard my subconscious sigh. “Sort of, if you really have to know. I guess you could say you’re talking to an alternate voice.”
“So do you have any physical being?” I was still curious about this concept.
“Sort of. You are my main self. But you can see me better as a shadow.”
“Like Peter Pan,” I remarked. “The shadow had a mind of its own, similar to his.”
“Yah,” it agreed. “Only Peter’s shadow was a snob.”
“I won't ask.”
“Anyways, have you addressed any of your questions?”
“The freedom question is a constant topic. I haven't been making much progress or change in my writing style, I don’t think personally. I
should move on and address a different question.”
“Which one?”
“The unfair and fair question would be a good topic. I think it would be easier for me to address because I have more immediate
experiences dealing with this topic. I would be able to relate to it better. The segregation question—I don’t have any immediate motivation
to address it because of my lack of ‘immediate’ experiences of personal ‘relation’ to it.”
“That makes sense. Do you think that this assignment is relevant to English?”
“I think so. I’ve looked at all of my journals from third and fourth grade and compared it to papers of more recent years. I’ve noticed how
my writing has improved. So I figured that the commonplace book is a more noticeable progression of my writing for just this semester.”
I looked at my shadow on my left side on the blue brick wall. The head part looked as if it nodded. “Do you think this will carry into your final project?”
I thought for a moment. “Maybe. I was thinking of finishing that story about Lunesca. I think that the freedom question could be molded into a theme for one of her subconscious goals. Do you know what I mean?”
“Not really. Explain a bit more.”
“Well, Lunesca, the main character, is sort of like a medieval tomboy trying to find a place to fit in. In short, she seems like she’s trying
to prove herself strong to everyone that she knows and even herself. One of the things she has to deal with is her magical ‘episodes’. Her newfound powers are controlled by her emotions, so it seems, and she’s one of those types who aren't very good at expressing themselves to others. One of the things she tells herself is that she can't let go of her control, or if interpreted, she can't be free of herself. So I’m trying to get the notion that she might be trying to find her sort of freedom throughout her adventure.”
“That’s complicated, but it’s cool. What made you want to do a blog instead of the notebook version?”
“I don’t know. I thought that it would be cool, different. And maybe as you know, since you’re my subconscious, I don’t keep up with diaries or notebook references very well.”
“Plus, your handwriting isn’t the neatest in the world.”
I laughed. “Uh-huh. It isn’t. I also thought about putting videos and other sorts of media in my commonplace book.”
“Do you like your blog?”
“Yes. Um, well, it has its ups and downs. I know that Mr. Schauble is bound to check on my progress, which isn’t very good at the moment. But the cool part about the blogging is that is different. And people can look at your work if they chose to, comment on your work too.”
“So do you like to write?”
“Yes, I do. But it can be hard sometimes. I think that it’s sort of strange because I write better without guidelines whereas I have a harder
time writing something that is supposed to have some sort of structure.”
“So if there is some sort of boundary, even the slightest, you find it harder to write about that topic?”
“I guess you could say that… I don’t know. If I can think of it on my own, I find it easier to put down on paper. If someone wants
something on demand with specifics, I find it harder. For example, in my free write story. Do you know that Lunesca’s brother Jeremy is
actually based on my brother Jeremy?”
“No.”
“Well, he is. A lot of the characters are based on people I know. Like my cousins—they’re Aaron and Brian. Their characters are based
on them. Anyway, I asked them for any special requests. Jeremy had the strange request of getting killed and then coming back to life.
He didn’t give any specifics about it, just that he would die and come back to life. I’m not even at that part of the story and I’ve got about
five possible ways he could die and come back to life.”
“So since he gave a basic request, a general idea, you’re having an easier time thinking about it and writing it down.”
“Um, yes.” I lied back down on my bed, computer still in my lap.
Strangely, my shadow didn’t move from its sitting position. “Well, it was nice talking to you. I’ll try to stop by more often.”
“Oh… okay.” I looked at my brick wall. “So you’re going?”
“Going?” My subconscious jumped up from its seated position. “I can't go anywhere. I’m just going to go chitchat with Jeremy’s
subconscious and catch up on some news while you do your homework. I won't be able to move. So I’m just going to use the technique
your characters use in the mind communicating.”
“Oh… um… well, I guess good bye.” I stared at the wall in amazement of my imagination’s accuracy in the concept of mind
communicating.
“See ya!” The shadow saluted me then snapped its fingers that made a loud cracking nose.
I jumped up in surprise. I looked around. My computer was still on my lap. My shadow was attached to my body, as it should be in
reality.
“Sorry Chel,” a voice said from the hallway. “I hit the bathroom door while I was practicing something for dance.”
“It’s okay Jeremy,” I said automatically as I heard him picking up the fallen object from the ground.
Still confused, I went to my computer and viewed my blog. There were five more posts that were recently drafts. Was that a dream, or
was it reality? My subconscious? Whatever. I had to get to my homework and had no time to dwell on silly mysteries. Okay, Chel, I told
myself. Time to do homework.